


he tastes of chocolate syrup.

by beckhams



Series: football. — ideas. [4]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, M/M, POV Second Person, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:35:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25536709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beckhams/pseuds/beckhams
Summary: but when you stare, when you trace your finger over his cheekbone, it's almost like you are reminding yourself of him, reminding yourself of everything he is.
Relationships: David Beckham/Gary Neville
Series: football. — ideas. [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1733986
Kudos: 5





	he tastes of chocolate syrup.

**Author's Note:**

> I am, yet again, indulging in a dying ship. I can't help it, the yearning of gaz/becks keeps me coming back 😔 I love writing yearning
> 
> I wrote this while listening to 'Brothers' by Rilés so idk if that helps the experience but you can try it

becks smiles over at you, all brilliant, all breathtaking, all _beckham_. and you find yourself smiling as well, and he's beaming, all bright energy and sizzling happiness. he must burn to the touch, he must be on fire, he must.

you curl a hand around his wrist and his skin is cold and your fingers are starting to freeze and you were wrong, he's freezing, all his warmth must have gone to his smile.

he turns over to look at you, crooked teeth and blonde hair and you can't look away, you can't look away from him and all his warmth and coldness and you smile harder and he smiles brighter.

you must look so odd to other people, two teenagers holding hands, smilling oddly at each other but you know what's going on, you know everything.

his skin is glistening, all sweat and maybe he just shines, maybe he's just so bright, but he's sparkling and his hair is bleached back to his usual blonde and its a lot lighter than you remember it, and his earrings are dangling and you swear he's gotten another one, he must have, and his eyebrow still has its slit in it from when he drunkenly shaved it, and he still has his crooked teeth and he still smiles the same and he's becks, he's becks and you can't take your eyes off him. 

the world may know david beckham, but they'll never know becks, they'll never know your becks.

you could look at him forever, you could stare and find all the little quirks of him but you already know him inside out, you know him more than you know anything else. but when you stare, when you trace your finger over his cheekbone, it's almost like you are reminding yourself of him, reminding yourself of everything he is.

you could almost whisper his name like a prayer, keep saying it over and over and over. but by now, when people look at you they know, he is wrapped around you from the bracelet you wear because he gave it to you, to the odd laces of your shoes because he said it looked cool. he's wrapped around you, and him with you.

he wears a gold chain, a dangly little thin chain that used to have his initials as the charm but he's lost that, so now he wears the chain without it. you loop your fingers under it and full him closer. 

"hi." he says. 

"hi." you say back. you let him go but he pushes your chest, pushing you to lay down on the grass before climbing to sit on top of you. 

his weight is comfortable and you slide your hands to rest on his thighs, he beams down at you. 

the other lads are doing drills, panting and sweating and fergie is looking over at you both from his place, but he leaves you alone, don't even snap and yell for you to return to the drills like he would with the others, he's always had a soft spot for becks. he just looks over and watches and maybe you want him to watch, maybe you want him to see that becks is your's and he'll never have a chance and maybe you're overly possessive. he can look all he wants, but he can't _have_. 

when you slide your hands up more, his shorts move with it, revealing more of the pale skin of his thighs and you rub reassuringly over the goosebumps. it's freezing out, all the other lads have under armour and gloves and hats and scarves but becks hates scarves so he wears a thick, team branded jumper that's oversized because apparently becks can't find clothes his own size, and he wears shorts and he pulls his hands into the jumper and he nicks a hat off someone else but he doesn't wear it unless fergie gives out to him and so far fergie hasn't, so his blonde hair is bright under the cold sun. 

you almost feel guilty for wanting to be the only one he looks at, you almost feel guilty for being the only one he allows to touch him but you don't, because it flares up this jealousy in you when you see him with someone else. 

you can almost feel your love for him wrap around your neck, tightening and tightening, threatening to choke you with it. your love of him will be the death of you and yet you lay there, the boy of your dreams in your lap, and you take it, you will take the death happily, you won't ask for mercy because death by love is the most merciful death there is. 

it could kill you. your love could kill you. he could kill you, and it isn't alarming, it isn't scary that this boy could ruin you and you would stand there and let him and maybe it should be but he is glimmering and you are distracted. his knife in your back is a pleasant pain, his knife in your back is a background noise to the overpower volume of his laugh.

the grass of the training pitch is dry, but the ground is freezing and when he clambers off you, you are hit with a wave of cold air. he extends his hands out to help you up, and you take them and pull yourself up. 

"thanks." you whisper. 

he hears you, he would hear you even if the rest of the lads were screaming, even if the whole stadium was chanting, he always hears you.

"of course." he says even though it doesn't make sense, he doesn't make sense. but it's so _becks_ you find yourself taking it as an actual reply to your thanks. 

you know you can't keep him forever, his star is burning so bright it's bound to attract others, maybe he'll move club, leave you and only call you on your birthday and it will be a call void of love. it's heartbreaking to think about but you can't keep him forever, you can't. 

but you can keep the memory of how he tastes with you forever. he tastes of chocolate syrup.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for all the nice comments and kudos xx


End file.
